


Never Knew No Good from Bad

by raiining



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aftercare, Dom/sub Undertones, Fisting, Hand Feeding, M/M, Nipple Play, PWP, Possessive Behavior, Sub!Crowley - Freeform, Vaginal Sex, dom!Aziraphale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 19:24:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19874815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiining/pseuds/raiining
Summary: “Oh,” Aziraphale said, and this time he was the one who was blushing. “Don’t ask me that. It’s too abnormal.”





	Never Knew No Good from Bad

**Author's Note:**

> Here, *sprinkles glitter,* have some porn.
> 
> (Beta'd by the always fabulous Ralkana. Thank you, darling!)

“Take a picture, Angel,” Crowley muttered, shifting awkwardly in the armchair, “it’ll last longer.”

They were back at the bookshop after another lunch at the Ritz. They’d eaten at the Ritz several times this week, this first week of the rest of their lives, and they’d walked in St James’s Park and gone out for sushi and come back to the bookshop for drinks. 

They hadn’t spent a moment apart since swapping back. Crowley wasn’t about to complain, he was in no hurry to separate from his Angel, but he had to admit that Aziraphale had been acting… odd.

If anyone had asked what Crowley thought Aziraphale would do, were Heaven and Hell to abruptly piss off, he would have guessed that his Angel would have melted gratefully into his bookshop. He’d leave to eat and drink and have picnics with Crowley, but he’d spend most of his time here, where he was happiest. Crowley would’ve expected to be tossed from the premises while Aziraphale re inventoried his books. He was still half-expecting it now.

But Aziraphale had surprised him. He’d done none of that. He hadn’t touched a single book since they’d evaded destruction, and he hardly ate. He’d actually pushed more food around his plate than he’d eaten today at the Ritz, and he kept _staring_ at Crowley, like he never wanted to look away. It was awful. It was wonderful. Crowley wasn’t sure what to do about it.

In response to his words, Aziraphale blinked. It was a long, slow blink, like coming out of a dream, and any human witnessing it would have wondered if Aziraphale were something Odd, something Other. If they hadn’t turned away, if they’d dared to look closer, they would have been caught by how perfectly _still_ Aziraphale was, like a statue, without even the usual up and down motion of his chest to feign breathing. A human would have shivered.

Crowley shivered for a completely different reason. He already knew what Aziraphale was, but he also knew that while Aziraphale might be perfectly still, he wasn’t staring in absentminded distraction. No, Aziraphale was _focused_. And he was focused on _Crowley_.

“I’m sorry, my dear,” Aziraphale said, and even his speech was slower than usual. “I just find I can’t quite help myself, these days.”

He hadn’t taken his eyes off Crowley for a moment while he spoke. Crowley trembled. “Can’t help yourself from what?”

“Looking at you.”

Crowley swallowed. His skin felt hot and flushed. He’d been feeling this way for days, as Aziraphale had slowly but surely lost interest in the rest of the world.

It was too good. It was addictive. If he didn’t stop soon, Crowley didn’t know what he would do.

“Don’t you want to go out for dinner?” Crowley tried, desperately. “Or a walk?”

“No,” Aziraphale said, steadily. “If I’m being perfectly honest, all I want to do is look at you.”

Crowley felt red hot. He was on fire. He couldn’t endure this, he’d combust. “For Satan’s sake, Angel, _why?_.”

Aziraphale blinked again, slightly faster this time, like he was surprised. “Why? My dear boy, I thought that was obvious.”

Crowley crossed his arms and glared. “It’s not.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said. “Well, I’ve always wanted to.” He pulled back slightly, and the intense focus of his attention waned. “I’m sorry if it makes you uncomfortable. I should have asked, first.”

“It doesn’t, it — _Satan_ ,” Crowley swore, running a hand through his hair. He already missed Aziraphale’s steady focus. “I fucking love your attention, Angel, you _have_ to know that. Half the reason I kept up with fashion was to earn a glance or two from you. But you’ve never — I swear I can count on one hand the number of times you’ve looked at me like you have for the past week.”

“Only four,” Aziraphale agreed wistfully. “I know, I’ve replayed them many times.”

Crowley stared at him. “What?”

“Darling,” Aziraphale said, ever so gently. “Just because I haven’t been staring at you, doesn’t mean I haven’t been wanting to. It’s all I’ve wanted to do for the past six thousand years. That first day, in the garden, I could have done nothing but look at you, you were so beautiful and so new.” He sighed. “But it wasn’t the done thing. It wasn’t right. Heaven would have caught on a lot earlier than they did if I did all the things I _wanted_ to do to you. So I didn’t.”

Crowley's mouth was dry. “What sort of — ” He had to swallow. “What sort of things did you want to do to me?”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, and this time he was the one who was blushing. “Don’t ask me that. It’s too abnormal.”

“ _Aziraphale_ ,” Crowley croaked. “Tell me. Please.”

Aziraphale looked up. Crowley basked in his gaze. He felt like a flower granted the sun.

“Well, my dear boy,” Aziraphale said, his voice gone rough. “For starters, I would tell you to stay perfectly still, and then I would look at you. I would stare at you for ages. Not just hours or days, but _weeks_ , likely. _Months_. All the time I wanted to take, I would take it now, and enjoy it ever so much. And then, when I had memorized every inch of you nine times over, I would touch you, oh so gently, to move you into place. I would miracle you back into all those wonderful clothes you’ve been wearing, and I would put you back into all the positions I remember you being in, every time we’ve been in contact, over the past six thousand years. I would stare at you then, like I hadn’t been able to the first time, and I would drink in the sight of you.”

“Oh, _God_ ,” Crowley blasphemed. He stared at Aziraphale. He couldn’t look away. 

“And then,” Aziraphale went on, his voice going deeper under his relentless gaze, “and then I would — slowly — start to touch you more. I would stroke your arms and legs, I would graze your eyelashes, I would feel between your toes. I would learn every inch of you with my fingertips, just as I’d learned it with my eyes, and then, eventually, after years, my dear, after _decades_ , I’d do the same with my lips.”

Crowley made a sound he knew was nothing human. 

“Then I’d _really_ touch you,” Aziraphale went on, and his voice was inexorable, and his gaze never wavered, “and I’d give you every kind of pleasure. I’d tell you to make a lovely effort, and you would, you’d be so good for me, and I’d pleasure you in every form you could miracle, like I’ve always wanted to. And only after I had my fill, when you’d come hundreds of times in hundreds of ways, would I make an effort too, and then I’d enter you.”

Crowley had slid out of the chair. He was on his knees, staring at Aziraphale.

Aziraphale extended a hand, reaching for him, and Crowley heard a faint, distant whining noise, and realized it was him.

“I’d take you,” Aziraphale went on, “and I’d fill every part of you, and I’d touch you everywhere, and then I’d finally have you and know you, every part of this physical body I’ve admired so much. The people around us would be old and gone, but I’d have you, my darling, my demon, my Crowley. And then maybe — _maybe_ — I’d be ready to look away from you, and take you out to dinner, and do nothing but hold your hand, but ohhh,” he exhaled. “It would be so long until I could be so satisfied to need nothing but that.”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley croaked. He felt on fire. He felt unworthy. “ _Yes_. Please, Aziraphale, do that. I want that. All of it.”

Aziraphale stared at him. There was no pity in his gaze, and very little that was human. He was an Angel on a mission, a warrior of God, and how sacrilegious was it, that he was looking like that, when he was looking at Crowley?

“Are you sure, my dear?” asked the Guardian of the Eastern Gate.

“ _Yes_ ,” Crowley breathed, a lowly demon, but a demon in love. “Aziraphale, I can honestly say that I have wanted nothing, over the past six thousand years, more than I have wanted you.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale asked. His gaze was relentless. “What have you wanted, darling?”

Crowley wet his lips. “I’ve — I’ve wanted you to look at me. I’ve wanted you to notice me. The clothes, the deeds, every time I showed up when you hadn’t asked me to, every time was to court just a moment of your time. Just a fraction of your attention. So what you're describing, it’s not abnormal to me. It’s _perfect_. It’s what I _want_.” He hesitated. “It’s just that — ” 

He felt fingertips on his cheek, feather-like, and he could no more resist them than he could Rise.

“Just what?” Aziraphale asked, gentle and strong and sure.

Crowley broke. 

“Just don’t offer me this and take it away,” he gasped. “Don’t start off staring at me, and then go and pick up a book. Don’t leave me. Don’t tell me that I’m a waste of your time, or not good enough, or — !”

“Crowley, darling,” Aziraphale said, and he slid down to his knees beside Crowley, and held his face between his hands. “Never,” he promised. “I would _never_ do that to you. If you let me, if you gave yourself to me, I would _cherish_ you. I would never abandon you. I would never turn away.”

Crowley sobbed, and something in his heart, long since broken, re-knitted itself. He cried for too long in his Angel’s arms, until the soft shushing sounds Aziraphale was making brought him back to himself, and he pulled away.

“Are you sure?” Aziraphale asked again, his hands still so gentle on the sides of Crowley's face.

Crowley nodded. His face was still wet with tears but he needed his Angel to know how much he _wanted_ this. He’d never wanted anything so badly in his life. “Yes.”

Aziraphale touched him again, this time on the chin, a gentle caress. “If you need to move, or you get tired, or _anything_ , I want you to tell me, and I will stop.” He held Crowley’s chin more firmly this time. “Promise me.”

“I promise you,” Crowley whispered, and he meant it, like he hadn’t meant anything in a long time, like every other promise he’d ever made was but practice for this one. For what Aziraphale was offering him, Crowley would never have dared to dream, let alone ask.

“Then come,” Aziraphale said, rising easily, and reaching for him. “Stand up.”

Crowley did. He’d felt comfortable on the floor but unfolding himself, standing, he felt awkward suddenly, all gangly and strange. He cleared his throat. “Where do you want me?”

“Just as you are,” Aziraphale said, dreamily. He was already looking at him with that angelic focus again, his eyes taking in Crowley, everything about him, just as he was. “Tell me if you need to move.”

Crowley thought about fidgeting, but that was a human thing to do. He didn’t need to move, he didn’t need to breath. Aziraphale wanted him to stand still. Accepting that, sinking into that, Crowley did.

It felt good.

Aziraphale smiled. His voice was soft. “Very good, my boy.”

Crowley shivered.

“Yes,” his Angel said. He breathed it like a prayer. “Just _look_ at you.”

And he did. 

For hours and hours, and then days and days. Crowley stood motionless, sometimes breathing and sometimes not, and let Aziraphale look at him. He felt heady, over flushed, like standing in a steam bath. 

The Angel’s focus never wavered. He walked in slow circles around Crowley, peering at every inch of him, exactly like he’d promised. And he talked to him, sometimes.

“Your eyes, my dear, how I love your eyes. I understand why you kept them covered, but they are oh so lovely, and I don’t think I ever told you, but I adored that you could show them here, that you felt comfortable enough to do so. They aren’t simply yellow, you know, there are layers and layers of colours there, with gold and dappled sunlight, hidden deep within.”

Eventually, Aziraphale stepped back from him, and Crowley couldn’t say how much time had passed, and didn’t much care.

“Do you know, when I think of all the times I wanted to look at you, and never could, there are a few that stand out the most in my memory,” Aziraphale said. He blew a breath over Crowley’s form, and Crowley felt his clothing change. The skinny jeans and light jacket he’d been wearing melted away and reformed. Crowley could have looked down at himself to see what he was wearing, but what did it matter? He knew what he looked like. What mattered was only what Aziraphale would see.

“Ah,” his Angel said, with a happy sigh. “Yes. I always did love this outfit, my dear.”

Slowly, Aziraphale began to circle him again. He admired Crowley utterly, and then changed his clothing again, and repeated that hundreds of times, admiring stitching and flourishes he’d only gotten a brief glance at before. 

Eventually, as promised, he lifted two fingers, held them up close, and watched as Crowley’s eyes darkened.

“I’m going to touch you now,” Aziraphale said. “Please tell me if that’s not okay.”

Crowley didn’t dare make a sound, lest his Angel take it the wrong way. 

Aziraphale waited a beat, and then finally, oh so slowly, traced a finger down Crowley’s arm.

Crowley shivered. His human skin erupted into goosebumps. Aziraphale smiled, and didn’t stop, touching Crowley gently all the way down his arm. He took his time, so much achingly perfect time, and explored every fold of skin, every freckle, every dip behind every nail. When he had finished with the first arm, he moved down to Crowley’s leg, and then after that to his other side, and then all the way back up.

He miracled away Crowley’s clothing carefully, one piece at a time. He was wearing something from the 1800s now, Crowley realized, his brain working slowly, like molasses. It didn’t matter. It mattered only that Aziraphale touched every button, every stitch, before he whisked it away, and then there was another layer below that, and then another.

Finally, he told Crowley to sit back in the armchair, which was still there, and hadn’t crumbled away to dust, though Crowley knew it wouldn’t have dared to, with Aziraphale nearby.

On the chair, Aziraphale touched him silently, reverently, spreading his legs and then closing them again, still using only two fingers, learning every inch of Crowley there was to know.

“Oh,” Crowley gasped, unable to help himself, his first sound in — how long? Did it matter? — when Aziraphale stroked the inside of his leg.

“Mm,” Aziraphale said, his voice low and almost wicked, except it was so full of love, “do you like that, my darling?”

“Yesss,” Crowley hissed, and let his head fall back. He spread his legs a little more, encouragingly, but Aziraphale kept his touches soft and gentle.

“ _Aziraphale_ ,” Crowley groaned. He’d been drifting in hazy wonderfulness all this time, Aziraphale’s attention surrounding him like a warm blanket. Now he felt switched on, an Aziraphale-tuned radio, crackling with static but ready to be used.

Aziraphale smiled. “Am I going too slow for you, darling?”

Crowley swallowed. “No,” he admitted, feeling the truth of it in his soul. He’d only hurried to get himself more time with Aziraphale, to earn a smidgen more of his attention, his grace. Now he had absolutely all of it, the entire thing, and he wanted to bask in it for as long as Aziraphale would let him.

“Mm,” Aziraphale hummed, and pressed a full palm against Crowley’s inner leg. “Maybe a little.”

He did speed up then, though still with aching slowness, running the back of his knuckles along Crowley’s hand, palming his chest, tweaking first one nipple, and then the other. 

Crowley realized he was naked, and had been for some time, not even an open coat left draped over his arms for modesty.

He gasped the first time Aziraphale’s lips touched him, the most gentle of kisses pressed to his cheek. 

Aziraphale gave him a moment to recover — an hour? A year? — and then continued, trailing his lips down Crowley’s neck to his collarbone, and then over his arm.

He gave every inch of Crowley’s body the attention of his lips, just as he had his hands, and then he did it again with his tongue. He nipped and sucked at the skin between Crowley’s fingers, and the curve of his ass, and the taut skin of his chest.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley gasped again, when he was overfull and brimming, lust and love and desire crashing together inside him.

“Yes, my dear,” Aziraphale said, granting permission. “You may make an effort. Go ahead.”

Crowley manifested a cock and immediately came, balls drawing up close to his body as he spasmed, splatter coating Crowley’s chest, one leg, and the seat of the chair.

“Mm,” Aziraphale said, before Crowley could catch his breath, or feel even the littlest bit bad about any of it. “Beautiful.”

He let Crowley keep the cock, then. He watched it harden and fill and spill hundreds of times, as Aziraphale went back and re-explored every inch of him all over again. He did it first with fingers and then with his hands, and then with his lips and tongue, and Crowley came and came and came, without shame, every time.

Finally Aziraphale pushed his lips apart and slipped one finger in between them.

“Oh,” Crowley moaned, and sucked at him hard. He hadn’t been allowed to touch before. He’d been a willing participant, but a silent one, being acted upon without acting himself, and now he was allowed to taste and touch and feel, and he reveled in it.

He came again, for who knew what time, taking more of Aziraphale’s fingers into his mouth.

Aziraphale followed with fingers with his tongue, and entered Crowley slowly, kissing him so wonderfully, another eon passed. Eventually Aziraphale trailed fingers wet from Crowley’s ministrations down his chest and towards his nipples, spending a year or two on each, learning that Crowley liked when he grasped them hard, and liked it even more when he twisted.

He fisted his hands through Crowley’s hair, and fit their mouths together, and kissed his way down Crowley’s body, and touched the skin around Crowley’s ass.

“My dear?” he murmured, a question and a promise.

“ _Yes _,” Crowley gasped, and gasped again when Aziraphale’s fingers entered him.__

__He took his time — this entire thing was about taking his time — and Crowley gave it to him, gave him everything. Aziraphale bent him over the arm of the chair, and thrust in and out of him, both slowly and fast, with one finger and then three, and then the whole of his hand, fitted up to his wrist._ _

__Crowley sucked in his breath and cried out, and came so hard he lost track of who he was. He could only feel Aziraphale over and above him, and knew a completeness he hadn’t felt since his Fall, and one that was better besides, because it wasn’t some nameless God’s absent love, it was Aziraphale._ _

__And he was his._ _

__Aziraphale hadn’t specified when he told Crowley to make an effort, but it was only after he’d learned every other part of him that he turned towards Crowley’s cock. He explored it the same throughness as he had the rest of him, after turning Crowley so he lay against the backrest of the chair, with his legs spread open, and Aziraphale on his knees in front of him._ _

__He touched him first with his fingers, and then with his hand, fisting and pulling, soothing and twisting. He learned everything that Crowley liked, and kissed him in apology for the things that he didn’t. And then one day he opened his lips, and took Crowley’s cock inside of his mouth._ _

__“Fuck,” Crowley said, unable to help himself, and came again._ _

__Aziraphale only smiled, and looked at him, and gave him time to recover, and did it again._ _

__When he finally tired of Crowley’s cock, he had Crowley miracle himself a vagina, and then he explored that again, every inch of it. Crowley learned a new way to come, and Aziraphale taught him to hone it, again and again._ _

__And then, and then, and _then_ , when Crowley felt strung out and helpless, when he was completely open and utterly at his mercy, Aziraphale made himself an effort, and fucked him._ _

__It was wonderful and hard and soft and lovely. Crowley didn’t know how many times Aziraphale came in his ass. He fucked him slow and he fucked him fast, he put his cock inside his mouth and had Crowley suck him. He asked Crowley to keep the vagina, and fucked him again._ _

__He did it over and over and over again, and every time he stopped, Crowley begged him for more._ _

__Time had lost all meaning. Maybe they were outside of it, pulled there at Aziraphale’s direction. Crowley only knew that he had everything he’d ever wanted, and Aziraphale gave it to him, again and again._ _

__“Darling,” Aziraphale said, cradling his face in his hands. “Sweetheart. Baby. Love. Are you all right?”_ _

__“Perfect,” Crowley breathed. He had drowned in the presence of Aziraphale. He had been reborn and drowned again. He was awash in a floating ocean of Presence, and he never wanted it to end._ _

__“Do you want to sleep?” the Presence asked._ _

__Crowley suddenly felt the weight of all they’d done, the years, and his muscles quivered with exhaustion. But, “No,” he said, and tilted his lips up for a kiss. “No dream would be as perfect as this.”_ _

__His kiss was granted. His lips were parted. Aziraphale pushed his tongue into his mouth, and Crowley loved it._ _

__“I think you need to sleep,” Aziraphale whispered, pulling back but tucking Crowley in close to him. The armchair had become a bed at some point, long and sleek and leather, and warmed by the activities they had performed on it. “Sleep, my love. I’ll keep watch.”_ _

__Crowley didn’t actually think he’d drift off, but he surprised himself, and any time the wonderful floating began to give way to nightmares, Aziraphale chased them away._ _

__When he awoke, Aziraphale had a glass of water for him, not too cool and not too hot. Just right._ _

__“Here,” Aziraphale said. “Small sips.”_ _

__Just as abruptly as he’d realized that he was tired, Crowley realized he was thirsty. He tried to gulp the water down, but Aziraphale shushed him, and took it away, and kissed him until he settled again, and then gave him more. After the water came food, small things first, crackers and fruits and chocolates. Things Aziraphale could feed to him, one at a time, while he watched him eat._ _

__He took him again then, feeding him first an apple slice, and then his cock, and he made sure they both came spectacularly before he slid out, and told him to sleep again._ _

__Slowly, so slowly, Crowley came out of the floating haze. He was drawn out, little at a time, with food and sleep and Aziraphale, always Aziraphale, with him every minute of every day, never leaving his side._ _

__To wake at last was to take in a deep breath, air he hadn’t needed and hadn’t missed, but suddenly craved. As he woke, Crowley stretched. He reached out every long limb and savored it, because every piece of him now knew Aziraphale’s touch. There was nowhere Aziraphale hadn’t stroked him, hadn’t loved him, with finger and hand and tongue._ _

__Turning onto his side, Crowley reached up and touched Aziraphale, the first time he’d initiated contact in Who knew how long._ _

__“Angel,” he breathed._ _

__His voice was rough, dry with disuse, but he felt perfectly happy inside, settled and content in his skin in a way he hadn’t in millennia, in six thousand years._ _

__His greed had finally maybe, for this particular instant, been satisfied._ _

__“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered. He sounded happy, too, love filling every corner of his voice._ _

__“This was wonderful,” Crowley said, meaning it, every precious second of it, every one. “Can we do it again?”_ _

__“Absolutely, my dear boy,” Aziraphale promised. He pulled Crowley carefully to his feet, and clothed him, the same clothes he’d been wearing that afternoon they got back from the Ritz, a hundred or a thousand or a hundred thousand years ago. Or maybe it had been a minute. Who knew? “But first, let me take you to lunch. Please?”_ _

__“Okay,” Crowley answered, and found a pair of sunglasses in his pocket, and slipped them on. He hummed, contented and filled and _happy_ in a way he’d never been before. “Let’s go for lunch.”_ _

__And they did._ _


End file.
